Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1) Page 11

  As the guard drew near, keys in hand, Jonas lashed out, grabbing the key ring with a precision Elias didn't know the man had. The pirate grunted in surprise, then swore as Jonas bit him, trying to wrest the key ring out of his hand. The pirate let go.

  And like that, Jonas had the keys. Freedom was within sight! Scrambling with the keys, Jonas frantically tried to unlock his manacles. He got the key in, gave it a twist, and the manacle fell away with a solid thud to the deck.

  That was when the sap came crashing into the back of Jonas's skull. He lurched forward as the pirate struck him again and again on the head, neck, shoulders, and back. Jonas tried to shield his head with his hands, but after the third blow, Elias saw his arms go limp, and he slumped against the bench in front of him, over the chains that kept his right hand bound to the oar.

  The pirate growled, tossing the sap towards the aisle. “Sunnuvabitch!” He grasped his wrist, where Jonas had bitten him, and kicked the mercenary in the ribs. The prone body didn't react.

  Elias gripped the chains binding his ankles, pulling on them as he watched, helpless as the pirate made sure Jonas wasn't any more of a threat. The pirate unlocked Jonas's other wrist and ankles, then drug him to the front of the room. There, he chained Jonas to the post that the drumsticks hung from, in full view of the rest of the slaves. He turned again, blood dripping from his hand to the floor. Elias wasn't sure if it was Jonas's blood, or the pirates.

  “Let that be a lesson to the lot of you! We'll be feeding this one to the boars on Greenreef, and if any of you so much as -dream- of pulling any shit like this one, ” he kicked Jonas in the stomach for emphasis, “You'll be joining him!”

  The pirate stormed back to Jonas's benchmate. Roughly, he unlocked her chains, grabbed her by the hair, and drug her towards the stairs. Hooking the key ring to his belt, he switched his grip to the woman's wrists, and pushed her up the stairs. Elias could hear the chorus of cheers as the pirates caught view of the woman. Jonas slumped, sitting mostly upright, his wrists chained together behind his back, around the post. Blood ran down his face, and his breathing was shallow.

  Hands shaking, Elias adjusted his grip on the chains that held his ankles to the deck. He pulled hard, but the chain biting into his hands didn't let him put his full strength behind it. Nevertheless, he heard the plank the chains were anchored to crack.

  So did some of the other oarslaves. Suddenly, every eye in the room was on him. Nobody had said a word since the pirate left, but now there was a flurry of murmurs.

  “Elias. What are you doing?” Marl's voice was soft but urgent. Elias ignored him, and cast about for anything that could help him break loose. His eyes fell on the oar in front of him, and his heart jumped into his throat as he got an idea. Pulling it free from the bar anchoring it in place, he moved it close enough that he could put his feet over it.

  He exhaled deeply, and pulled his feet up and over the chain that bound his wrists to the oar, setting them down on the other side of the handle. Now, his feet were on the other side of the oar from where the chains were anchored to the deck. He lifted the oar handle, and felt the manacles at his ankles bite into his flesh. It was painful, but not as bad as the chains bit into his hands.

  The murmurs turned slightly louder now. “Shh!” Elias hissed, getting into a squatting position, gripping the oar handle behind his legs. Resting his forehead on the back of the bench in front of him, Elias gripped the oar handle behind his legs and braced himself. He had done this style of lift before, when working with the men of the North. They would have frequent tests of strength as part of their celebrations, and his unnatural size made him a constant participant. He remembered bracing himself like this to lift a wagon tongue.

  He started to lift, keeping his back straight, and pushing with his legs as Marl scrambled back onto the bench. The plank under Elias groaned, cracking a bit more. He relaxed for a moment, adjusting his grip, and stepped back slightly. Again, he lifted, pushing with his legs and pulling up with his shoulders and back. The plank creaked and cracked a bit more, then, with a snap, the bolt tore free, trailing splintered wood.

  Elias quickly sat back down, stepping back over the oar, so that it was in front of him again. Standing up, he jerked the oar towards the aisle. The short chain caught, keeping Elias from pulling it all the way in, and though he pulled on it, he could not break it loose from the hull. His escape would be of no use if he could not free himself from the oar.

  “Out! Push it out!”

  The old man who sat a few benches in front of him was watching him. He pointed at the oar. “Push it back out! The bolt is rusty, you can snap it against the hull! But be swift, it'll sound like a drum!”

  Elias paused, looking at the hole the oar went through. It had room for the oar to move, but not enough to let the bolt out, driven through the wood as it was. He steadied himself, stood as upright as possible, and drove the oar out through the hole as hard as he could. With a loud thud and a sharp ping, the bolt snapped off, dropping the chain against the hull.

  Marl was on his feet now, his hands on the oar. “Again!” he hissed, pointing at the bolt that connected his manacles to the oar. The older elf pulled his chains taut, making sure his hands were well out of the way. Elias drove the oar against the hull again, snapping off the second bolt.

  Acting swiftly, Elias pulled the oar back in until the thinner, worn down part was sitting on the iron around the hole in the hull. Pushing the oar back, he wedged it into place until it couldn't move anymore. He could hear feet on the stairs, no doubt someone coming to check on the noise of the oar slamming against the hull. Bracing against his bench, he shoved against the handle with everything he had, muscles bunching against the strain.

  Begrudgingly, the oar began to splinter, then gave way under the punishment, snapping off and dropping the paddle into the ocean. Thinking fast, he propped the oar back into place, the splintered end at the hole in the hull it once protruded from, and quickly resumed his seat as the guard stormed into the room.

  “What the hells was that noise?”

  The slaves murmured slightly, stirring in their seats, staring very intently at the oars in front of them. Elias prayed none of them would give him away before he had his moment to strike. He had to find a way to get the keys from the pirate, so he could free the rest of the slaves and mercenaries. He tightened his grip on the oar handle, steeling himself for the strike.

  The pirate glared out over the benches, searching for a culprit. His eyes fixed on Martin.

  “You. It was you, wasn't it? You goddamn troublemaker!”

  Stomping down the aisle, the pirate closed on Martin, sap in hand. Elias had to do something, and fast, or Martin would get a beating much like Jonas had.

  Almost as if on cue, the pirate started issuing threats and insults as he walked down the aisle. “I'm gonna break your fuckin' feet, you miserable son of a fisherman's whore!”

  “You're a coward.”

  The pirate froze, his eyes wide at the sound of Elias's voice. Elias lifted his head so he could see him clearly, even in the dim light of the oar deck. The pirate took a step closer, clenching his fist around the handle of his sap.

  “What did you-”

  Elias cut him off with a snarl. “I said you're a coward! A milk-fed babe has more courage than you do, you sallow-skinned weakling.”

  The pirate seemed to be struck dumb by the reality of a slave speaking to him like that. He stared back at Elias, his cheeks quivering with rage. Elias swore he could even see a tic forming at the corner of one eye. He started towards Elias, raising the sap high to deliver a heavy blow.

  A blow that never landed. As soon as the pirate was in range, Elias lunged forward, swinging the oar handle as hard as he could. It slammed into the side of the pirate's head with the sound of a potato falling on a table. Before the pirate even hit the ground, Elias was on him, baring his teeth as a low growl, punctuated by his exertion, rumbled out of his chest. He grabbed the stunned pirate by the feet, t
he only part that he could reach, and dragged him closer. As soon as he was close enough, he struck the pirate three times with the butt of the handle, feeling the crunch of his skull as it gave way to his onslaught like fragile pottery.

  The stunned silence that filled the room quickly gave way to murmurs from the slaves. Every head was turned, watching as Elias tore the key ring from the dead man's belt and unlocked the shackles around his ankles and wrists. With a clatter, the chains holding his wrists fell loose, still bolted to the oar.

  And that abruptly, he was free; free and armed. The section of the oar handle he held was about six feet long and shaped very much like a war club. From the sounds up on deck, not much notice had been taken of the noises from down below.

  He moved immediately to Jonas, checking on the leader of his group. He was bleeding from some cuts around his eyebrows, and his eye was swollen shut, but he was breathing. He unlocked the shackles that held him to the post, and lay the wounded man down on his side.

  Elias's mind raced. He had to figure out a way to fight off the pirates, kill them all. He only had himself and eight trained fighters to go up against who knew how many cutthroat pirates.

  He kept the oar handle nearby as he moved back towards the front row of slaves. “Can you sail? Can any of you sail?”

  There was a slight chorus of 'aye's, and a few nods and raised hands. “Can any of you fight?”

  Silence greeted him this time.

  “We need to fight to get loose. I don't want to live out the rest of my days rowing this rickety bucket across the ocean while pirates whip me!”

  Some of the slaves were nodding in assent, looking back and forth between each other. The quiet murmur started rising among them before a single voice spoke out over them.

  “The pirates keep their swords in the armory so they can pose as sailors until they decide to board another ship. It's at the back of the hold.” It was the old man again, speaking from his bench. “There is a key on that ring.“

  Elias looked back to him. “How do you know this?”

  The elderly man spread his hands. “This is my ship. They took it from me, and stuck me and my crew down here.”

  Martin whispered urgently, “Elias! For the love of all things sacred, hurry up!”

  Elias started unlocking the manacles attached to the oarslaves, his heart beating hard in his chest. After four weeks of captivity, the prospect of freedom was enough to make him giddy. Starting with his fellow mercenaries, he moved down the middle aisle until he reached the captain.

  “Which key opens the armory?” Elias asked as he removed the old man's chains.

  “The one with a brass handle, looks like an anchor.” The captain rubbed his wrists. “Thank you, master elf.”

  Elias removed the brass key from the ring, handing keys to the shackles off to Martin. “Call me Elias.”

  “And you can call me Delain. Let's get my ship back.”

  Elias and Delain crept towards the grate farthest aft, towards the rear of the ship. Though Elias hardly needed the help, Delain lifted one side of the large metal grate that covered the access to the hold. “Martin! Once you get everyone freed, help them down here. Marl, see to Jonas. We're going to arm up and take this ship!”

  Marl moved towards Jonas silently as Martin cursed, causing the slave he was working on to cringe. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Martin finished removing the man's chains, and sighed. “Dammit. No. I don't.”

  “Alright then.”

  Delain held a finger to his lips. “The crew quarters are in the forecastle, but some of the men will sleep in the hold. The rocking of the ship is less severe down there. They might not all be topside.“ Elias nodded and lowered himself down into the hold, reaching up to help the old man down. He crept among the crates and sacks, looking for any sleeping pirates. Blood dripped between the planks underneath where he had killed the guard.

  A snort and grumble caught his attention, and he dropped to a crouch. On a pile of burlap sacks, one of the pirates lay on his back, spread-eagled. Elias crept up on the man, his bare feet silent against the planks, until a loose plank groaned loudly under his weight. The pirate sat up, blinking, looking directly at Elias.

  Elias pounced on the man, one massive hand clamping over the pirate's mouth, the other one gripping the man's neck in a stranglehold. The pirate's arms started flailing about before balling into fists and bludgeoning Elias about the head and shoulders. Elias ducked his chin down, taking most of the blows on his shoulders and the back of his head. Adrenaline made his breath come fast and hard, while the struggling man gagged against his hand. Elias gritted his teeth, his pulse thundering in his ears as he clenched his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the panicking man's brow.

  It seemed like an eternity before the pirate stopped fighting back, his blows becoming weaker until his arms dropped to his sides. Elias held him there for a few moments longer, until he could feel the man's pulse stop under his grip. Elias let go, leaning back on his haunches, staring at the bug-eyed countenance of the man in front of him. The pirate had blood all over his teeth where they had cut into his lips from the force Elias had been putting on him. Elias looked down at his hands. They too were covered in blood and saliva. He wiped them off and headed back towards the rear of the ship.

  Delain had the door to the armory unlocked when Elias got there. Inside were about twenty cutlasses, maybe ten bows with quivers, and perhaps fifteen short-handled axes. Enough to arm a bit more than half of the slaves.

  Elias was a little disappointed to not find his sword amongst the weaponry. The oar handle he had would serve him well, but he wanted a cutting edge. He started handing weapons to the slaves who were showing up behind him.

  Once all the weapons were handed out, he directed the rest of the would-be warriors to the belaying pins, which were between a foot and a half to two feet long and shaped roughly like clubs, or gaff hooks scattered about the hold in small piles here and there. After everyone was armed, Elias addressed the crowd.

  “Half of you go to the front of the ship, the other half of you stay here with me at the stern. Now, when I give the signal, I want you to charge up the stairs and kill every single pirate you see.”

  One of the slaves spoke up. “But they're better armed, and we're starved! They're pirates, and we're just slaves!”

  Elias stood fully, his head among the beams that supported the deck above him. “Do you want to stay a slave? Do you not have a family to go home to? Do not hesitate, because they won't. If you don't kill the pirate in front of you, he will kill you. It's not a maybe, there is no guessing here. You will die if you do not fight, and so I intend to fight.”

  There was a murmur of assent through the crowd.

  Elias pointed to the mercenaries that had been captured with him. “Half of you should lead the charge to the deck, soften the pirates up for the slaves. We're stronger, we've been below deck for less time. The other half will stay with me and lead the way up this staircase. We'll catch them from both sides and meet in the middle.“

  Four of the mercenaries, including Martin and Geoff, led half of the slaves to the staircase at the bow. Elias and the other three mercenaries stayed at the stern, huddling on either side of the staircase, out of view of the deck.

  Topside, the celebration continued unabated. Elias could hear raucous laughter, shouting, and fiddle music mixing with the sounds of the sea. When Martin signaled they were in place, Elias turned to his men. “Is everyone ready?” Without waiting for a response, he roared out the signal.

  “Now!”

  Chapter Ten

  13th Waning Summer Moon, Year 4368

  Using the railing of the stairs to propel himself forward, Elias charged up the stairs, wielding the broken oar like a giant bat, the chains still dangling from the middle. He took the stairs two at a time, outpacing the mercenaries who were on his tail. He could hear the yelling from the bow of the ship as
he broke into the torchlight. The fresh air hit him like a breath of heaven, but he couldn't stop to enjoy it. The fiddling pirate was turning towards him, a shocked expression on his face.

  Elias swung the handle with everything he had and destroyed the man's skull. Blood and flesh sprayed forward, splashing across several other shocked pirates who were yelling and screaming in surprise. Not even slowing down his charge, Elias was upon them before they could get their swords drawn. As he struck the pirates, his fellow mercenaries led the slaves into their quarry behind and around him.

  The clashing of steel and the smell of blood filled his senses, and his vision began to turn red again. He had felt this before when he fought, and this time, he reveled in it. His blood rose hot in his veins and he let out a battle cry, wordless, just sound and fury tearing itself out of him as he ripped into the stunned pirates with his improvised war club.

  Elias brought the handle down on another pirate, crushing his skull and slamming him to the deck in one strike. Adrenaline coursed through the blood that thundered in his ears. He grabbed one of the pirates by his shirt and tried to throw him, but the cloth gave way instead. The pirate staggered back, sword in hand, then lunged forward, swinging at Elias.

  Elias's oar handle struck the basket hilt of the cutlass so hard that it was crushed against the pirate's now very broken hand. A second strike liberated the pirate from pain by breaking his neck.

  Chaos reigned on the deck as slave and pirate clashed, many pirates falling before they had a chance to grab weaponry. Only a few of the pirates carried their swords with them, and it was these that the mercenaries targeted first. In the fray, one could see the difference between the frantic, terrified slaves, and the aggressive fury of the mercenaries.

  Something heavy landed on Elias from behind, and a rope wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air. There was a shout, and suddenly, the rope tightened, and Elias felt himself being lifted off his feet. The weight started slipping off his back, but Elias grabbed it and drug it around in front of himself as he was lifted off the deck.